Magic In His Hands
I lost a dear friend this week. A friend I never met in person, but it hurts no less.
Ezra Caldwell and I crossed paths eight years ago as bike-nerds often do, via the internet. He laughed at my fat-wheeled adventures and watched my children grow-up from the opposite side of the planet. I gawped slack-jawed at his beautiful photographs, his beautiful bicycles, his colourful friends in their colourful city. Half the time these New York domiciles were riding bikes, half the time they were dancing around naked, I had no preference. It was a window on a world far different to mine.
Across those eight years the dance instructor transitioned to bike builder, the bachelor married his beautiful girlfriend, and everything was documented on film and in pixels as only Ezra could.
Photography, bicycle fabrication, wood-working, cooking and writing… he excelled at damn near everything. This renaissance boy had magic in his hands.
Along the way he got sick, more than once. All the pain, the brutality, the physical and emotional scars of fighting cancer were openly discussed on his blog and through his photography. It was excruciatingly honest and a tough read for those who loved him.
Every time I lean a bike against a wall, camera in hand, I think of Ez. Every time I step outside my comfort-zone in the kitchen I think of him too. People like Ezra who seep into your life, delight your senses and influence your thinking are to be treasured, dead or alive. Rest in peace Fast Boy.
Take the time to read through the links below, soak-up his photos, watch the films. I’m guessing a little bit of Ezra Caldwell will rub off on you too.